I stutter for normality
across the river
from black men fishing
for kibbers
and horned pout.
Barefoot children rounded
bellies curled
navels stalk the turtle
sunning on a log.
lonely in the field grass
lonely on the curbstones
I stutter for normality.
Not a mother
whose breasts are dry,
whose child doesn’t cry,
who sleep
on a cot
in a tent.
~The Concord River
1981
